She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. “What have I been all this time?” she asked herself, and answered, “Just stark egotism, crude assertion of Ann Veronica, without a modest rag of religion or discipline or respect for authority to cover me!” It seemed to her as though she had at last found the touchstone of conduct. The fair boy in the audience who had waved was yet another suitor. The hand which the man had been holding hung limp and nerveless at her side. It rained heavily all day, so he did not stir forth. ‘Certainly this is true,’ she managed.
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